


Lie Awake

by thestarryknight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Attempted Murder, Choking, Dark Magic, Deathly Hallows, Elder Wand, Fighting, Grimmauld Place, M/M, Master of Death, Murder, Stabbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:15:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27342586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thestarryknight/pseuds/thestarryknight
Summary: Draco Malfoy is in danger. It's the only thing Harry can think as he flies through the air in the dead of the night to save him.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 15
Kudos: 75





	Lie Awake

**Author's Note:**

> Do mind the tags, but I will note that the violence (specifically, the stabby bit) is bloodless -- this fic is T for a reason.
> 
> Thank you for dropping by! This fic is an extension of the 333-word drabble I wrote for the October Drarry Discord Drabble Challenge (see the first of this series for the drabble). I felt a bit inspired, so here is some powerful MoD!Harry. 
> 
> Beta, alpha, and literal life-saving genius is from [gryffindorhearts,](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gryffindorhearts/pseuds/gryffindorhearts) without whom this fic would not be what it is.
> 
> Enjoy!

Alone in the giant bed in Grimmauld Place, Harry sat bolt upright, eyes flaring open in the oppressive darkness around him. He threw a hand beside him, finding the bed still half made and cold. A name was already forming on his lips.

_Draco Malfoy is in danger._

The words echoed in his head like a siren; they clutched at his chest and dragged his bare feet onto the cold floor. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, shaking his head to clear the remnants of a violent dream. _Draco Malfoy is in danger_. It felt like an alarm bell ringing through his body, racing like a pulse under his skin. 

He summoned the Elder Wand, feeling it clink against the silver of his ring as it settled into his hand. He never slept without both in arm’s reach, though he did not need the wand to cast anymore. The light from the wide full moon caught on the metal of his ring, flashing as Harry summoned dark clothes over his naked body. 

Harry reached with his mind, feeling, seeking, searching. He could trace the sense of danger like a sixth sense, and honed into the spot. _There_. On the border of Malfoy Manor, just inside the walls. In his mind’s eye, Harry stared through Malfoy’s eyes as an attacker raised a silvery wand at him, casting something devilish and red and sharp in ways that made Harry cringe away from the vision.

In the second before he Apparated, Harry grabbed the invisibility cloak, rolling it over his shoulders. The wand, the ring, the cloak: Death’s uniform for the night. 

_Draco Malfoy is in danger._

The darkness under the new moon felt almost tangible, as if Harry could breathe in its thickness as he moved. The grass crunched beneath his feet, covered in a thick layer of browning leaves, and Harry could smell the crispness of fall in the air on the Manor grounds. But Harry did not need to see to be able to seek Malfoy through the darkness. His mind’s eye was clearer than true sight. 

He cast his Legilimency outward, searching in ripples until he found, weakly, a hint of life. He Apparated closer, just a hundred feet from where he had originally landed. He reached out in the dark before he had even landed, hands warm centimeters from the thin shoulder. They were far from the Manor, nearly at the edge of the property. Harry could sense the edges of the wards only meters away. It was as if Malfoy had crawled back inside after whatever it was had attacked him.

“Up you get,” he muttered, letting his magic pour over Malfoy, searching for wounds. The red curse left nothing on the surface, but Harry could taste the sickly scent of it. It sunk into Malfoy’s bones deeper and deeper by the second. He cast a stasis charm, willing it to hold back whatever evil was currently pounding through Malfoy’s body. It left a layer of blue across Malfoy’s skin, highlighting the sharp lines of his face in bitter, harsh relief.

“Are you an angel?” Malfoy whispered, voice barely a rasp. His body was heavy in Harry’s arms. “I can’t see you,” Malfoy said. Harry could feel him shaking, uncannily cold. Malfoy blinked up at Harry, and Harry could see how pale he had become in the dim light of the moon.

Harry snorted, “Hardly.” He whispered a warming charm over the man in his arms. “It’s simply not your time to die,” he murmured. Malfoy smiled slightly, unconsciously turning closer to Harry, his thin hand knotting in the black t-shirt fabric.

“Hmm,” Malfoy grumbled, “The woman who attacked me would disagree.”

“Her mistake.”

The stasis spell appeared to be holding. Harry decided they might as well return to safety. He Apparated back to Grimmauld Place, drawing Malfoy somehow even closer as he moved through space. They appeared with a loud pop, the sound reverberating across the otherwise silent room. It was precisely as he had left it only moments before, still and quiet in the dead of the night. He laid Malfoy in the bed, still warm from where he had left it, and drew the thick blankets over him. 

“Be still,” Harry whispered, reaching to calm Malfoy’s anxious hands. “No one but Death himself can touch you here, and I have other plans for you.”

With one last glance at Malfoy, Harry Apparated again to the grounds of Malfoy Manor. “This will only take a moment,” he said to himself, voice loud in the silent darkness. He could find the trail of the assailant easily from here. 

He moved to the space where he had found Malfoy, just inside the Manor gates in a small copse of Hemlock trees. The acrid scent of Apparition lingered in the air like sulfur. Harry could see the faint yellow tinge of a trail and reached out with his hand. In the darkness, his smooth brown skin seemed to glow with the heat of his magic. As he touched the yellow trail, it became more solid, like a ribbon, twisting in space. Harry leaned into it and Apparated.

The tall woman with eyes like steel and skin like ice stared at him in shock. In the streetlights, she seemed even younger than she had at the Manor grounds. She could be his age. Harry drew his wand, moving towards her, over the cobblestones.

They were somewhere warmer than Wiltshire, Harry could tell, with the heady sound of dance music pulsing from the large club in front of them. A perfect place to hide. A perfect place for the chase. 

The woman wore all black from head to toe and lifted her wand at him, words forming on her lips. Harry had no doubt she would try to curse him first, and he reveled in the feeling, stepping towards her with a fierce smile. The neon lights from the club’s signage reflected in her bitter eyes.

His lips turned upwards with a bitter, sharp edge, a flash of light from his wand bursting across a flare of light bright and strikingly sharp. The woman screamed in rage and rubbed at her eyes, as Harry pulled the Invisibility cloak tighter around him, disguising himself from view. She stared around, wand at the ready, and turned to run into the club behind her. 

The chase was on. Harry _lived_ for this part. 

He Apparated ahead of her, flashing a curse in her direction as he met her just past the bouncer inside the first door. She snarled in the direction of the curse, eyes wheeling. Harry had missed, but it was enough to send her running. She turned away to shove herself into the crowd. He followed, fast on her heels, elbowing his way past a woman in a flashy teal suit. The music pulsed like a heartbeat in his skull, and he reached for her arm, just missing the pale elbow as she turned in another direction. 

Harry caught the same sulfuric scent as he watched her Apparate back to another street. He turned and disappeared with a flash, too, following her. The cloak billowed behind him as he moved through the night, revealing flashes of his arms, his wand hand, his bitter smile.

This street was more of an alley, darkly lit and littered with the debris of two overturned trash cans. She was already running when he hit the ground six meters behind her. She turned to face the sound, eyes searching, and she flicked a spell at him, narrowly missing. Harry gained on her, but only barely, as she sprinted further, farther, feet flashing against the cobblestones. 

He had her now, the yellow ribbon tied to her soul growing more tangible, thicker by the moment. It was visible like something in his periphery, just _there_ , as if it were a tether between the two of them. He leapt over an overturned bin, sending glass skittering across the stones as he began to gain on her. 

When the chase began, there was no escaping Death. Harry followed the thread out, watching as it wove back and forth across the alley, flaring brighter as she darted through a flickering streetlight. 

She Apparated again and he hardly had to think to follow her, the ribbon tugging at him, deep in his chest, until he appeared in yet another dimly lit club. Had he not known the scent of her magic so well, she might have been lost among the writhing bodies around him. But there she was, across the hall, frantically casting glamour after glamour. He could see her changing the shape of her nose, lengthening her hair. A bitter laugh burst from his chest, and he pushed slowly through the people around him, closer to her. He flicked the Invisibility Cloak back around him, covering his head with the hood, as the Elder Wand slid into his palm in a single steady motion. 

He stalked closer, dancing through the bodies with a shift of hips here, a brush of a ghostly hand there, a whispered _excuse me_ as needed. Though some of the clubbers gave a double take, no one stopped his progress until he was a meter from her. Harry’s target was growing more agitated, hands shaking and eyes darting across the faces of the clubgoers. A young wizard with deep red hair was attempting to speak to her, though she kept shaking her head at him. _He would be but a minor complication,_ Harry thought.

Harry’s fingers splayed out along the shaft of the Elder wand and he ached closer to her. She would notice the gap in people in a moment, he was sure of it, she was so anxious, so vigilant. Her eyes flicked back and forth across the crowd as she finished another glamour to change her clothes into something more aligned with the scanty club chic around them. The music pounded even louder at the front of the club. They were standing steps away from the speakers. But despite the noise and chaos, Harry felt as if he and the woman were alone in the world, stepping closer and closer, everything silent. 

Her glamours were effective. Harry would grant her that. If he could not smell the awful sulfur of her wretched magic, he would not know this woman to be Malfoy’s assailant. And yet, the scent of its yellow sickness filled his mind as he glared at her from beneath his cloak. His eyes watered, though the smell was only in his head.

“Move,” he whispered, voice gravelly with power, and the redhead turned to see who was speaking. Seeing no one, his eyes flared wide, comically, and he turned back to the assailant. She paid him no notice. “ _Now_ ,” Harry echoed, a hair louder, and the redhead darted away. No obstacles remaining. 

Harry summoned a small knife from his boot, running his fingers over the cool mother-of-pearl handle. In a flash, he had one thick hand on her wrist, halting her wand, as his other drew back his hood, knife still held steady between his fingers. Harry looked into her eyes. Her irises flashed black with terror and Harry reveled in her deep gasp. It would be over so quickly. _It might have even been her last,_ Harry thought.

“A life saved for a life taken,” he said in that same gravelly voice, as he plunged the knife between her ribs, twisting just so as he pulled it free. He plucked her wand from her hand, tucking it away inside his robe as she began to slump. He held her up, staring into her eyes with a bitter snarl as she collapsed against him. 

He felt her soul leave her body, and watched as the smell of yellow sulfur and the ribbon tying her to him, sealing her fate, faded into the darkness. In the same breath, three things happened. Her empty body crumpled to the floor. The redhead, who had been standing across the club, continuing to stare at the assailant, began to run back to her side. Harry watched him for a moment, seeing his movements as if he were shifting in slow motion. And Harry turned and disappeared, as if he’d never been there at all. 

_Draco Malfoy is in danger_. 

The thought broke through his bloodlust and he lifted the hood back over his head, flashing teeth at the redhead before he disappeared.

Back at Grimmauld, Malfoy was shivering restlessly under the blankets. Harry cast another warming charm and summoned a thick red blanket, letting it settle over him. He raised the Elder Wand, murmuring a diagnostic charm and letting it hang above Malfoy. The oily curse, though resolved after the assailant’s death, had left streaks of evil magic coursing through Malfoy’s blood. There was a special kind of tincture necessary for this.

He turned reluctantly from Malfoy’s side to hurry down the four flights of stairs, fingers trailing along the cold stone as he rushed. The tincture’s composition was already forming in his mind, and Harry could visualize the way it would come together. Learning all the ways a wizard could meet Death -- or avoid him -- had granted him the knowledge he would need.

In the cellar cabinets on the third floor of Grimmauld, Harry pulled out a miniscule vial of unicorn’s blood. There were perhaps three droplets-full in it, the container no bigger than his pinky finger. And yet, the tiny vial sparkled with its own light, filling the room as Harry brought it out. He summoned the Merlin’s Drink water as he walked, and drew a mortar and pestle into his retinue as he walked. 

He paced the cellar, fingers flashing with wandless magic, inviting the ingredients to pour themselves together. Dried ginger, turmeric, and dandelion danced in the air behind him, lit with the sparks of his magic and the unicorn blood. Floating behind him, the small stone mortar ground itself obediently into the mortar. Sprigs pulled themselves from the herb bundles and floated into the pestle. 

Harry pulled the dropper from the vial of unicorn blood, allowing one shimmering droplet to fall into the mixture. With a flash of wandless magic from his thin fingers, the paste ground itself to completion, shining with the blood and a tinge of yellow from the turmeric. 

He Apparated back to the room upstairs, bringing the mortar along with him. The room was eerily still, barely stirred by the sound of Malfoy’s weak breathing. At the bedside, Harry cast to remove Malfoy’s shirt and pull the blankets back.

He made no reaction as Harry rubbed the paste into his sternum, fingers sharp but gentle, and Harry grew worried for how serious this injury could be. He whispered a spell as he worked, cleansing Malfoy’s blood of the vile spell the woman had cast. Malfoy did not stir, but his breathing began to even into a calmer pace and the sharp creases in his face began to fade. Harry worked until all the paste was nearly transparent,soaked into his skin. It began to course through Malfoy’s blood, chasing the spell away in its path. 

He looked down at the lightly yellow paste, illuminated by the soft glow of a _Lumos_ charm floating by the windowsill. In the softness of the night, Malfoy seemed almost peaceful, so far from the angry boy he had once known. _But,_ Harry supposed, _we are both so different now_. 

With a flick of his fingers, the supplies returned to the downstairs cupboards, and Harry shut the door behind him, standing in the hall with his to the room where Malfoy now slept.

The foolishness of his actions settled plainly on Harry at the sound of the door clicking shut. He tore off the cloak, throwing it to the side as he sank down against the door, fingers burrowed in his hair. The strands of soft curls, long and scraggly, were a comfort to him. He ran a twist around his fingers, grounding himself in the texture. 

_“Lumos_ ,” he whispered, letting a tiny ball of light hover above his free hand. It cast an eerie glow along the corridor, sending dark shadows dancing like menaces as far as he could see. In the darkness, he could see the meandering pattern of the burgundy wallpaper across the hall, the worn rug across the hardwood floors, and his own hand, shaking.

“Kreacher,” he whispered into the darkness. The elf appeared in a snap, ratty teacloth waving frightfully in the breeze from his Apparition. Harry frowned at him.

“I’ve made a rather stupid mistake,” he said to the elf, “You’re going to help me fix it.”

Kreacher gave him an expression much like one makes when smelling rotting food.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Harry stood up, bracing himself against the door frame until he was towering over the small elf. “Right, so here’s what you’re going to say. He can’t know it’s me, or that I’m here at all.”

* * *

A sliver of morning sunlight cut across Malfoy’s pale face amid the dark red blankets. Harry sat in a large black velvet armchair in the corner, legs tucked up underneath himself. He was wrapped in the Invisibility cloak, the soft fabric covering him entirely. To Malfoy, the chair would appear empty. 

Harry toyed with the ring in his hand, twisting it around his finger, tugging at it fruitlessly. The ring had not left this finger in the two years since it had placed itself there, and he doubted it would be any different today. 

This was his task. 

Even still, he found himself tugging at the silver stone ring until his knuckle was red and angry. A soft sigh from the bed drew his attention back to Malfoy. He looked so gentle asleep. The wrought, angry lines of his face softened, and the ire in his eyes was hidden beneath soft pale lashes. Bitter bruises were blossoming high on his cheekbones, harsh and angry against the gentle planes of his sleeping face. Harry frowned at himself, clenching his hands into fists beneath the fabric of the Cloak. It wouldn’t do to take any further pity on him.

Still, he found himself unable to look away as Malfoy’s eyes fell open with a familiar look of anxious anger, the emotion slipping over his jawline. Malfoy stared around the room, hands searching the bed and side table. Harry watched as Malfoy found the black Hawthorn wand perched neatly beside him, next to a small potion bottle labelled – in Kreacher’s perfect penmanship – ‘Pepper-up.’ Malfoy’s fingers caressed the wand, sparks of magic darting across the wood as he checked it over. Harry could see some of the anxiety drain from him as he lifted the wand, could hear the audible breath of relief. 

Neither of them had taken a breath until that moment, Harry realized. 

“ _Hominem revelio_ ,” Malfoy’s voice snapped, casting in a circle around the room, light flashing from the wand. Nothing appeared. The light danced over and through Harry, rebounding from the walls and returning to Malfoy’s wand. _Of course the charm would not see me,_ Harry thought, _What is the difference between living Death and the dead?_

“ _Specialis revelio._ ” Some charmed trinkets on Harry’s bookshelf lit with gentle sparks. Malfoy narrowed his eyes, frowning at them, and Harry felt instantly defensive. They weren’t anything dark, of course. Just a few odd charms. 

Malfoy pushed the blankets slowly down, running his hands over the dark clothes he had been wearing the night before. Harry had not bothered to remove the mud caked into the elbows of his long shirt, though he had set the small wounds on his hip and shoulder to clean themselves and begin healing. 

Malfoy touched the place where the curse had hit and buried itself in his abdomen. Harry winced on his behalf. It was surely still bruised and aching, though no longer life-threatening.

Malfoy paced the length of the room three times, from the far side of the bed across the closet, towards the door, and past Harry’s chair, searching the closet and under the bed. Harry watched as he pawed through his dresser, crinkling his nose with what was surely some snide comment, though he did not speak.

On his third and final turn around the room, Malfoy hesitated, seeming to survey the room. Eyes narrowed, Malfoy took his final stretch, stalking from the door towards Harry. He stepped within a meter of the chair and paused, cocking his head just slightly. Harry refused to breathe.

Could he leave? The crack of Apparition would surely catch him in a second. He could call Kreacher, though the elf’s capacities for fabrication were weak at best.

But even as Harry shook the ridiculous idea from his head, it was already too late. Malfoy bent down, searching beneath the armchair, running his long, delicate fingers up the outside edges, disrupting the dark velvet, hands a millimeter from Harry. There was a tiny bruise ringed around the knuckle of his right hand, purple and painful-looking. Harry could smell how close Malfoy was now, mere millimeters from him, thick with the dirt still clinging to his blond hair. He could hear the delicate thud of his heartbeat, so loud this close.

He was certain, positive, that those delicate fingers would land directly on his chest, but Malfoy stopped and turned on his heel, eyes sliding away from the chair as if it were utterly beneath his notice. Harry was shaking, hands sweaty, when Malfoy finally turned back towards the door. He was utterly alone in his chair, watching Malfoy’s retreating back with something in his chest that ought to have been relief but felt more like disappointment.

Malfoy’s hand touched the bronze doorknob. 

A _crack_ of power sizzled through the air, a _Protego_ so strong Harry could feel it across the room, pushing at his chest. Malfoy’s wand, which he had never lowered, was pointed back in Harry’s direction.

In an instant, Malfoy was nose-to-nose with Harry, slate gray eyes staring straight into his own. Harry had not seen him cross the room, and his breath caught in his throat. Malfoy ripped the Invisibility cloak away, tossing it onto the floor without flourish.

Harry had no time to even react before Malfoy’s hand was pressed into Harry’s throat. He swallowed, Adam’s apple pressing against Malfoy’s palm. His eyes met Malfoy’s and narrowed. Harry arched one eyebrow: a challenge.

“Your Occlumency has not improved, Potter,” Malfoy spat, moving closer into a more stable crouch as he loomed over Harry. His free hand gripped the wand tightly, pointed at Harry. He could feel the tendons in Malfoy’s forearm flexing, straining, tensed as his hand was at his throat.

Harry could not speak around the pressure closing tighter. Power coursed through his blood, and Harry knew it was enough to send Malfoy backwards and through the next wall if he wanted. 

He waited. 

“But despite your failings, here I am. In what I can only assume is your bedroom.” 

He lifted his hand just slightly and Harry breathed gratefully. It was not enough to take in a full breath, but enough to stop him from growing fully dizzy. Harry leaned forward, pressing his neck deeper into Malfoy’s hand, lip curling into a snarl. No human touch could hurt him, not even Malfoy’s.

“Which leaves a single question.” Malfoy said, voice as cold as ice.

Malfoy stepped backwards, releasing Harry’s throat and replacing his hand with the sharp point of his wand. 

“ _What_ is it that you want?” he continued, eyes flashing.

Harry stood, pressing his body closer to Malfoy’s, drawing himself up until they stood eye to eye a centimeter apart, the edge of the armchair digging into the backs of Harry’s knees. He didn’t need his wand, but he summoned it anyways, letting it slip into his hand with an audible _snick_. Malfoy did not spare a glance at the long, ribbed wand, and did not move his own from where it prodded into Harry’s flesh.

“Your loyalty.” Harry whispered it, throat still aching with the imprint of Malfoy’s fingers. 

Malfoy actually laughed, an awful sound that cracked between them. Harry stepped infinitesimally closer, power coursing so thoroughly through him that his skin was prickling with electric-blue.

“My loyalty isn’t worth shit, and you know it,” Malfoy said, eyes probing. “I think you saved my life, Potter.”

“It simply--” 

“--wasn’t my time to die. You said that last night.” 

Harry frowned, eyes flicking away, down to the wand. “It’s true.”

“Right.” Malfoy said, pressing the wand ever closer. 

Harry’s eyes narrowed, and with a flick of his hand, he sent Malfoy’s wand spinning across the room. Malfoy whirled backwards in alarm. Harry shoved past him and stalked towards the door.

“ _Accio_ ,” Malfoy snapped, and the wand halted its flight to spin back towards him. “Potter,” he called, following after him. “ _Potter_ ,” he said again. 

Harry turned, eyes nearly glowing with his rage, blue light flickering across his skin and dancing across Malfoy’s features. He raised his wand, prepared to cast something dark, something that would reflect the anger boiling in the pit of his stomach, and to throw it at the other man, but Malfoy was quicker.

 _“Expelliarmus_.”

The Elder Wand flew across the room, landing neatly in Malfoy’s open palm. Harry stepped closer, aghast, though he could still feel the same power coursing through his body. This power was as deep in his veins as was the fact that he was a wizard. Even still, he could feel the eerie pull of the Wand, drawing him closer to Malfoy. A deep, unsettling wrongness of someone else wielding its power compelled him. 

“You don’t know what you’re dealing with,” Harry started, stepping closer. 

Malfoy smiled, baring straight white teeth and matched Harry’s step. They moved until they were again but centimeters from each other, breath hot on each other’s cheeks. Harry lunged for the wand, and again, Malfoy was faster. 

“Your Occlumens has _still_ not improved,” he whispered, twisting around Harry until their positions were switched and Malfoy now stood closest to the door. He waved the wand in front of Harry, taunting him. 

“Tell me, Potter,” Malfoy said, voice hot against Harry’s cheek, his eyes dark. “Why _Hominem Revelio_ does not spot you.”

He put a hand on Harry’s chest. “Why your magic is -- quite literally -- overflowing from your eyes?”

He shoved, pushing Harry backwards, towards the bed. Harry went willingly, eyes on the wand in Malfoy’s hand, waiting for the right moment to lunge again.

“And why, at precisely the right time, you knew I was in danger?” He held the Elder Wand against Harry’s chest now, and Harry could feel the bulging magic pulsing through him, through the wand, through Malfoy. Hell, through the whole of Grimmauld Place. They were both overflowing with it, coursing through them without a sense of boundaries or the edges of themselves.

Harry sat up, letting the wand press deep into his black sweater. His lips curled back into a bitter smile and he grabbed Draco’s hand, pressing sharp fingers into Malfoy’s wrist until he dropped the Elder Wand with a cry. 

In an instant, Malfoy was underneath him, pinned and wandless. Harry hovered over him, eyes black with the coursing magic of the wand reunited with its true Master. 

“You know the answers to these questions,” Harry bit out. “You know what I have become.”

Malfoy twisted under his grasp, pushing their bodies closer, pulling away to try to twist a leg between them, wrists turning under Harry’s ironlike hands. Harry glanced up, catching the glint of the silver ring flashing against Malfoy’s pale wrists. 

“I’ve heard the stories,” Malfoy said slowly. “We’ve all read the Bard.” 

Harry pushed down harder, face centimeters from Malfoy’s once more. The deep bruises around Malfoy's eyes seemed even starker in relief against his pale skin so close. Harry could count his eyelashes, their bodies were gripped so close together. Magic echoed the vice of his hands, holding Malfoy from head to toe.

“I didn’t think they were true.”

Harry smiled then, a real smile, though it was somehow no less frightening than his snarl. The intensity of his gaze held Malfoy in place both figuratively, and literally, as the magic pulsed between them.

“You don’t have to hold me down,” Malfoy said, voice strong. He lifted his gaze to meet Harry’s. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Aren’t you?”

Malfoy pushed against his hands, and Harry released him, eyes narrowed, suspicious. Malfoy twisted his hands, cracking the knuckles as the blood returned to his fingertips. 

And then he placed them. Left wrist stacked on right wrist. Above his head. 

Malfoy tilted his chin up, defiant and deeply vulnerable, and met Harry’s eyes. 

Silence passed between them, so loud that Harry could hear each of their heartbeats. Harry knew, despite the twisting, roiling anger inside him, that here, at least, _Draco Malfoy was safe_.

“I’ve spent far too long scared for my life,” Draco said, voice deep and quiet, “To be afraid of Death.”


End file.
